I remember
by mytsie
Summary: Spock didn't need to say it but, he found, it was comforting to hear it. Five times Spock saw Sarek loving Amanda. Amanda/Sarek fluff.
1. Anniversary

_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3 Broken up into chapters because it made sense to.  
_

**1:** Anniversary

Spock didn't know his father could play any musical instruments. In his six years he'd never heard even the slightest indication of music from his father's study, nor the lightest lyrical lilt in his even, mathematical tones. Ergo, it was very strange when he came downstairs to borrow his mother's favorite afghan from her study and he heard light, immaterial tones resounding from behind his father's door. His original task was immediately forgotten as the slow, twining notes slipped across the warm stone flooring. He walked carefully, quietly, and with unconscious, unpracticed, childish stealth until he was just close enough to peer through the three millimeter gap between the threshold and the door itself.

His mother was reclining, the dark robes his father had been wearing that morning were draped across her shoulders, and there was a gentle, easy smile across her face. His father, clad in his long-sleeved shirt and crisp-cut pants, stood less than a meter from her. His eyes were closed serenely and his fingers curled around the neck of an instrument Spock didn't recognize. His father drew a long, slim bow across the strings and his fingers ran along the strings in uneven, mechanical motions.

The song he played was not Vulcan. Rather, it sounded like the music his mother listened to on the occasions she rose before dawn. As the strings and the bow contacted, his father drew languid, warm notes from the instrument. He pulled the notes slowly, in carefully controlled time, and Spock watched as his mother's eyes slipped closed for several seconds.

The song was simple, a repetition of a single chorus with very little alteration, and it was over fairly swiftly. His father drew several long, somber, tender notes and lowered the bow to his side. His mother's eyes flitted open and her hands came together genially. She applauded him softly, her sweet smile reaching up into her eyes as he lowered the instrument and placed it on his desk.

"You don't play the violin," she accused and her voice sounded strained. Spock panicked momentarily as her eyes watered—the constriction of her throat and the redness across her face could indicate peril. "You learned _Träumerei _just for this?"

"You indicated a preference for this particular composition," his father's voice was even and unconcerned as his mother stood and allowed his robes to fall to the ground. His dark eyes followed her as she crossed the short distance to him."Was I incorrect in this course of action?"

"No," she whispered and placed a gentle kiss against his lips. She wrapped her arms beneath his and leaned her head on his chest as she embraced him. One of his hands came to settle at the small of her back and, to Spock's confusion, his father's lips lilted upward unconsciously.

"Spock," his father's voice resounded in the peaceful silence and Spock started slightly, "You should return to your chambers and sleep." Spock didn't hear his mother's gentle, teasing reprimand or his Father's soft retort as he darted straight back to his room.


	2. Earrings

_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3 _

**2:** Earrings

It was a hot day and Amanda was attempting to appear less affected by the weather than she was. Spock didn't quite understand her extensive attempts to appear impervious, and watched as she adjusted the high collar of her dress of the fifth time in seven minutes. Her hand slipped up her neck and gently patted at her hair, assuring that the wilting strands remained in their tight, manicured arrangement. Her hands folded in her lap again and Spock continued to watch her.

"Spock," she said and turned to him, a bright, forced smile across her weary features. Her cheeks were flushed and her painted lips were less full than he was accustomed to. "Aren't you excited?"

"I do not understand why you would ask," Spock admitted and Amanda let out a short, plosive sigh. Her smile was uneven when her lips curled up again and her hand came around his shoulders, resting gently against his back.

"No, I don't suppose you would," she commented and her thumb stroked rhythmically, absently, against the nape of his neck. "Your father will be here any moment," she added and, even though Spock already knew, he didn't say anything. She withdrew her hands and adjusted her collar again before gently fingering her earrings. Halfway through palming the nondescript loops, her eyes widened. "Oh why did I wear these?" she muttered quietly and hastily removed them. Spock watched with mingled fascination and disappointment as she took off her jewelry and tucked them into her sleeve.

"Mother," Spock began and furrowed his brows. She was adjusting her hair when she turned to look at him. "Might I inquire—."

"Oh," Amanda cut him off as the door to the chamber slid open and Sarek stepped through. He looked thoroughly calm, serene, and unaffected by the heat. Amanda stood and crossed the room several steps before hesitating. "Are they here?" she whispered urgently and Sarek raised an eyebrow before crossing the room to stand before her.

"The Ministers departed only minutes after myself," Sarek informed her and she twisted her hands nervously. "They will arrive shortly."

"Oh goodness," Amanda half mouthed and frowned as she smoothed her dress unnecessarily. Sarek interrupted her actions as he set his hand on her shoulder. She froze and looked up at him—Spock could not see her expression, but her shoulders were tense and her hands clenched hesitantly.

"You removed your jewelry," Sarek stated and Amanda took a deep breath as she forced her hands to clasp one another.

"I was concerned that it would be...a bit too much," she admitted quietly and Spock felt as though he were intruding. "Do you think I should put them back on?"

"No, they were superfluous," Sarek replied evenly and Amanda's shoulders dropped in a manner that belied her surprise and distress. In response, Sarek leaned in and, very quietly, informed her that, "You have no need of them, you are aesthetically pleasing without aid."

Amanda's breath caught and she disengaged her hands from one another. There was a silent moment before she laughed lightly and trailed her fingers up his arm to his shoulder. "You're a liar—I'm red-faced, starched, and pressed. I might as well be in a steam closet, for how hot it is here." Though her words were technically accusatory, she sounded almost cheerful.

"To lie is most illogical," Sarek informed her dryly and, when she turned around to return to Spock's side, she was smiling in genuine. Within fifteen minutes, a Vulcan family group arrived and Spock was introduced to a girl named T'Pring. Her expression was flat and she didn't look nearly enough like his mother.


	3. Wind

_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3_ _This one really got away from me...hrr it's more a Spock moment than Sarek, though I can imagine Sarek seeing something similar in San Francisco._

**3:** Wind

Generally speaking, Vulcan's weather patterns varied less extremely than similar planets. Its orbital balance was, apparently, ideal to promote this equilibrium and thus Vulcan only had three identifiable _seasons_ during it's four-hundred and fifty-six day yearly rotation. The first was _Falek'wak,_ the sequence of days wherein the planet it closest to its star. The second, _Tvi'wak_, the intermediary days in the interval between the extremity of _Falek'wak_ and the long days of _Irak'wak_. And, lastly, the Vulcan equivalent of winter, _Irak'wak_ wherein the longest night cycles of the year are achieved and the most extreme variations in overall atmospheric conditions are encountered.

It was, at that moment, the twenty seventh day of _Irak'wak_. The weather over _Shi'Kahr_ was tempestuous. The humidity had doubled in the last few hours and the absorbed heat from the landscape was reacting poorly with the cool air from the west. Thunder pealed across the sky and the particular geography of _Shi'Kahr_ offered very little in the way of resistance against the uneven, whiplash winds.

Spock lingered in the alcove of the _Shi'Kahr_ Academy foyer and assessed the environmental conditions as he awaited his mother. His adolescent frame had proven an asset against the heavy winds, and his ascent up the steps to the Academy had been significantly less exhausting for him than for those of greater height and stature. As it was, the brief trip had caused an uncomfortable sticky sheen to accumulate across his exposed skin—he attributed it to the thick humidity and the moist, uncomfortably cold winds.

"Spock, early as always." His eyes turned from the view of the outdoors and his shoulders visibly relaxed as he identified his mother. She was wearing a light gown, something she'd brought from Earth, and a sweater of her own fashion was looped around her shoulders. Her hair was curled tightly and she clutched several PADDs and a small, nondescript, black bag in her hands.

"I arrived within a reasonable margin of our agreement," Spock defended and she spared him a sly look. He was grateful when she didn't continue her course of conversation and crossed the large, circular chamber to meet him by the doorway.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she prompted quietly as she stood beside him. He looked up at her and his brows furrowed—her smile was wistful as she glanced out at the gloom—the glass doors reverberated lightly as a particularly powerful gust of wind struck them.

"It is generally disagreeable," Spock corrected her and she arched an eyebrow at him. "It is considerably colder and more humid than optimum temperatures." She smiled, in the same fashion she did when he asked her about her knitting or spoke of the little confections she hid in his school bags, and ran her hand over his dark hair, smoothing it back.

"Come on," she said lightly, "I'm sure your father is waiting for us."

She'd ushered him through the door, out into the wind, before he'd had a chance to correct her statement. The wind was still as they took the first few steps down from the Academy doors. As they reached the fourth step, the a western wind tore up the steps and struck Spock hard enough to cause him to pause and close his eyes. His mother let out a strange sound and his panic forced his eyes apart in the wind—her face was bright and she gave a small shout as the wind tore her hair free from it's arrangement. She shrank, joyously, and fought to peer through the halo of her own long hair as they continued down the steps.

The wind was no less harsh when they finally arrived back home. The sky was dark and the chronometer noted a significant disparity in their travel time. Spock frowned at it as his mother ushered him through the door, into the peaceful interior of their shared home. Her laughter, which had echoed almost since she'd exited the Academy, chased her inside as surely as the wind—the soft material of her long dress fluttered and nearly enveloped Spock until the door shut behind them.

"I suspect it was the wind that caused your tardiness?" Spock glanced at the staircase and found his father staring down at them from the topmost stair.

"It was beautiful," Amanda informed him and her voice sounded exhilarated, as though the experience had been anything but harrowing. Spock eyed his mother as she all but tossed her bag and PADDs on the table by the door and jogged, lightly, up the stairs. When she met with his father, her eyes were still shining and she looked tousled—windswept? He stared at her flatly and she smiled.

"I'll be combing the resulting knots out of my hair," she explained and pressed a light kiss against his cheek, "I'll see to the evening meal after that." As she walked away, Sarek watched her. Her dress fluttered and Spock's eyebrows lifted as he watched his father's fingers move to graze the drifting fabric. Wordlessly, Spock turned and walked away. His father kept the upstairs windows open to 5% of their capacity that night.


	4. Delicious

_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3 _

**4:** Delicious

"Alright," Amanda said evenly as she stepped out of the kitchen carrying an open tray.

From his seat, diagonal across from his father at their square table, Spock was concerned that his mother might drop the tray and its contents. The gentle red light from the diminutive candles danced across her face and reflected in her warm hair. Her smile was broad as she stepped into the room and placed the tray at the center of the table.

Atop the plain metallic tray was a small, circular cake. It was technically excellent in craft—perfectly formed, bearing a pressed fondant exterior, decorated with a detailed, mathematically perfect (albeit limited) fractal pattern, with no apparent errors despite the obvious hand-applicated quality of the colors. Atop the cake was a small flower—one of the few that grew upon the surface of Vulcan—and a sequence of small, colorful candles.

"Mother," Spock began and she shot him an amused look, "I do believe that the general purpose of the candles, in this particular tradition, is detailing the age of the recipient." He eyed the cake and the ten candles it held. "Father is well beyond ten years of age."

"I know that, Spock," she replied and smiled at him before reaching out and patting his hand assuringly. As she withdrew her hand, it became very apparent that she wasn't going to explain the issue of the candles. She cast him a look and he arched an eyebrow. "I can't convince you to sing, can I?" She glanced between him and his father, who looked decidedly unmoved by the display before him.

"Very well," she said after several seconds of silence—the candles were slow burning, but they were exhausting themselves at a significant rate. "You'll both just have to humor me," she prefaced and, before either could ask, she started singing. Her voice was pleasing (likely due to familiarity) but the song appeared to have an intentional off-key lilt and was moderately grating. As she concluded it sweetly, she motioned to Sarek and, with a hesitance that spoke of his distaste for this situation, he exhaled slowly and extinguished the candles on the cake. Amanda applauded him and Spock followed her example (with significantly less vigor).

"Who would like cake?" Amanda asked cheerfully as she retrieved a knife and several plates from the kitchen. Spock glanced at his father and the two shared a silent moment before she returned. Amanda didn't wait for them to answer, and served them both with relish. The cake appeared to be an amalgamation of Earth ingredients and flavoring from the few fruit-bearing plants on Vulcan. Spock arched an eyebrow as his mother eyed him expectantly.

"It is aesthetically pleasing," his father began abruptly and his mother's eyes fixed on him as he lifted his utensil and consumed a portion of his slice. He chewed mechanically and swallowed before inclining his head, "it is very delicious."

Spock arched an eyebrow and looked at his own slice as his mother placed a kiss on his father's forehead. He separated and placed a section of the confection into his mouth—his immediate visceral reaction was not what he had anticipated. He was grateful for his mother's distraction as he swallowed the bite. His eyes fell on his father as his mother took a liberal bite of her own slice—she sputtered and set the plate down swiftly.

"Oh my, something didn't replicate correctly," she muttered and a flush crept across her cheeks. She glanced between them, frowned at the cake, and excused herself to dispose of it. As she left, Sarek turned to answer Spock's questioning stare.

"You lied," Spock pointed out and his father arched an eyebrow.

"My statement was subjective as it evidenced only my own opinion," his father defended, his expression carefully schooled as he regarded Spock, "Therefore it cannot be a lie."


	5. Beginning

_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: Written for a 5 Times prompt. 5 Times Spock saw his father loving his mother. :3 I was really tempted to write a part 6, in 5 times tradition, but I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be disgustingly depressing._

**5:** Beginning

"What's that?" Jim Kirk's voice interrupted his thoughts and Spock closed his eyes briefly before turning to properly regard the human.

"It is a personal memento," Spock explained. He wasn't certain if it was merely his own weariness or his personal need to appear completely unaffected by everything Kirk managed to do, but he maintained his ramrod posture even as Kirk all but leaned across him to see the capture in his hand.

"Uh..." Kirk uttered and his face screwed up in an expression of confusion and suspicion. When he started speaking again, his voice was laced with hesitant uncertainly. "You know that's a picture of the Federation Board chambers, right?"

"I am aware of the location, yes," Spock responded dryly and Kirk eyed him. Several seconds passed in tense silence and it became increasingly apparent that Spock was not going to spontaneously provide Kirk with any information. Kirk cleared his throat and swung around him, perching himself on the railing between Spock and the windows of the aft observation deck.

"So...why do you have a picture of the Federation Board chambers?" Kirk asked and folded his arms. After a long, silent breath, Spock's fingers slid across the capture screen and isolated the center of the image. The center expanded to fill the small PADD and Kirk's eyebrows drifted upward as he cocked his head to see.

Seated at the table, three seats down from the livid Andorian ambassador and his argumentative rival from Zargon, was Spock's father. Behind him, moving toward the edge of the picture, was a young brunette in civilian clothing. Her face was bright and her expression moderately surprised as she glanced over her shoulder toward the table. Kirk eyed her and it took him several seconds to realize that she was looking at Sarek rather than the arguing pair. As he stared at her, he spotted the place where her right hand lingered against Sarek's chair and he could just make out the thin fingers that crept over the edge of her hand.

"It is my father and my mother," Spock elaborated and stared at the image. "This image was taken approximately five terrestrial years before the date of my birth."

"Oh," Kirk stated shortly and his eyes darted across Spock's face. Apparently, he found no explanation in Spock's visage and frowned. "It's...uh..." he paused and forced a smile, "Very nice."

Spock drew his attention away from the image long enough to level a depreciating, stoic stare at Kirk. The human shrugged and Spock turned the image before passing it to Kirk. He knew it well enough that he didn't need it before him.

"My father engaged physical contact in public, before an obvious recording device," Spock elaborated and something dawned across Kirk's face. Kirk regarded the photo silently for several minutes before he handed it back. He pushed himself off the railing as Spock folded his hands behind his back. As Kirk left the deck, he paused by the doorway.

"He loved her very much," Kirk supplied genially. Spock didn't need to say it but, he found, it was comforting to hear it.


End file.
